


Gae Bolg

by Quillfiend



Series: Full Thrust: Short Dragoon Smut Stories [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Pole Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 07:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20635364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillfiend/pseuds/Quillfiend
Summary: A noblewoman enjoys her toy.





	Gae Bolg

**Gae Bolg**

Not just _everybody_ in Ishgard city could afford an obsidian replica of Gae Bolg adorned with gold leaf, but Bretta de Dzemael was one of the lucky ones who _could; _indeed, it wasn't just a copy of the legendary spear, but a beautiful work of art, a lean pillar connecting the soft cushioned floor of the nightsalon with its carved ceiling. Originally built as a reminder of her ancestors' sacrifices, a solemn memorial to great dragonslayers of ages past, Bretta ultimately found another use for it, one to benefit the living; herself, specifically.

It was said that the armor of all dragoons was tempered in dragon blood, which made the steel links more akin to scales; sturdy, impenetrable, but also acting more akin to a second skin than hard metal, bending with one's body like soft leather. This was greatly to the benefit of the man before Bretta; Etien was unusually agile even for a dragoon and he was not shy to demonstrate this. With one of his ankles hooked against the replica's blade, his back was arched backwards as he tried to reach the floor with his hands. The mail reserved for dragonlancers clung to his lean muscles tightly, drawing vague lines across his trained stomach; the sight almost made Bretta get up from her quillwork and go touch her companion. Before she made up her mind, however, Etien rest his weight on his hands in an elegant cartwheel and flipped away from the obsidian shaft. As soon as he was back on his feet, he wrapped his fingers around the pole and swung around it in a playful crescent.

Bretta couldn't see into his face very well, but she noticed he was smirking. He did enjoy putting himself on show.

„So busy tonight, lady scribe,“ Etien teased, idly leaning against the pillar, „one would almost think you weren't watching.“

Bretta closed the ledger in front of her and offered the dragoon a venomous smile. He took it as a dare, raising his scaled arms to firmly grasp the spear replica behind him and slowly slid down to duck before it, knees far apart. Bretta smiled and pushed herself up from her worktable, joining her hands behind her back as she approached the exposed dragoon as she would an eyestriking statue, glancing over each and every one of his chiseled curves. He was simply delicious, and there was no denying that.

He bit into his lower lip when she stopped before him, judging him from above. While his gaze remained obscured by his many-eyed dragon visor, his flushed cheeks betrayed just how much he liked that treatment, and Bretta wasn't going to stop there. She kicked off her embroidered pumps, briefly getting a feel for the cushy carpet, then moving her foot to gently tease Etien's groin. The mail protecting him was sturdy, but it did not render him impervious to touch and pressure, and Bretta could soon feel the fruit of her labor: a familiar stiffness pressing against her toes, squeezed and restricted by Etien's dragoon armor.

„Please.“

Bretta smiled at the plea, lowering herself to her subject. She wrapped her delicate fingers around his throat and pressed the dragoon's neck against the obsidian pole, forcing him to slide even lower and thrust his hips against her. A kiss followed, and then a choked sigh when Bretta moved her free hand down between Etien's legs to finish what she started. His little desperate moans were mouth-watering, but Bretta was patient, like a cat toying with her mouse. Besides, she _so _disliked bringing proper men into her bed; no, she had to break them a little first, turn them into a proper _mess._

And Etien - he was hardly a challenge in that. He was her little good boy, twitching and whimpering as she rubbed his crotch; she went hard on him now, no soft strokes but the proper abuse her toy deserved. And she knew no greater satisfaction than when he made himself filthy, this mewling dragoon that chased terrible beasts at day and embarrassed himself for her entertainment at night.

Overwhelmed by a wave of sudden affection, Bretta drew away from her panting beau and glanced over his parted lips, still wet from drool and drawing wheezing breaths after the ordeal. She didn't linger for long, leaning down to taste what of his hot, sticky climax leaked through the tight links. He shivered, still too sensitive.

And the night was just beginning.


End file.
